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SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.
She Walks In Beauty, like the night
And all that's best of dark and bright
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Which-waves in every raven tress,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A heart whose love is innocent!
THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.
The Harp The Monarch Minstrel Swept,
O'er tones her heart of hearts had given,
Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven! It softened men of iron mould,
It gave them virtues not their own; No ear so dull, no soul so cold,
That felt not, fired not to the tone,
Till David's Lyre grew mightier than his throne!
It told the triumphs of our King,
It wafted glory to our God;
The cedars bow, the mountains nod;
Devotion and her daughter Love Still bid the bursting spirit soar
To sounds that seem as from above, In dreams that day's broad light can not remove. IF THAT HIGH WORLD.
If That High World, which lies beyond
Our own, surviving Love endears; If there the cherish'd heart be fond,
The eye the same, except in tears— How welcome those untrodden spheres!
How sweet this very hour to die! To soar from earth and find all fears
Lost in thy light—Eternity!
It must be so: 'tis not for self
And striving to o'erleap the gulph,